


Telephone

by owlmoose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the delayed reactions to grief that are the least expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telephone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Mourn Me - one character mourning another character’s death." 
> 
> A fandom I have never written before and a canon I have only watched once, so my comfort level with the characters and knowledge of canon details may be iffy; please forgive any errors.

Five months, one week, and three days later, Greg Lestrade sat at his desk, a folder of complicated and vague evidence in his hands, a headache pounding behind his eyes. Why did the knottiest cases always seem to wind up in his office?

Greg flipped through the pages again, scanning the conflicting eyewitness accounts, the impossible coroner’s report, and then threw the pile back down on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed at his forehead with a sigh. Then he picked up the phone and dialed his secretary.

“Yes, Inspector Lestrade?”

“Get me—” and then he stopped, swallowing the name he had been about to say. 

“Inspector?” the secretary asked, patiently.

“Never mind,” he growled, and he slammed down the phone, staring at it as though it might explode in his face. Five months, one week, and three days, and not once had he made this particular mistake, not until today. Was the habit of calling on Holmes for aid that deeply ingrained?

But Holmes would not be able to help him with this case. Not this case, nor any other, not ever again. Greg gathered up the papers into a stack and tapped it against the desk, aligning the bottom edges, then the sides, then the bottom again. Then he laid them down with care, placing it in the exact middle of the folder. He would have to figure this out on his own.

He pushed the chair back from the desk, picked up his mobile phone, and walked over to the window. Flipping the cover off the mobile, he pulled up the phone book and scrolled down the list of contacts. When he found the one he was looking for, he deleted it. Then he scrolled down a bit further before hitting the button to make a call.

“John? It’s Greg, Greg Lestrade.” He sat down on the windowsill and leaned back against the glass. “Care to grab a pint after work?”


End file.
